


Across Scorched Lips

by alxxiis



Series: Better By Your Firelight [4]
Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29067156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alxxiis/pseuds/alxxiis
Summary: Serilda nearly destroys the camp, and Halsin seeks an explanation and provides some comfort.
Relationships: Halsin (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Better By Your Firelight [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018318
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Across Scorched Lips

"Concentrate," Ilyarus said.

She could imagine his stance, hands clasped behind his back, eyes narrowed as they watched her. Her jaw clenched.  _ Concentrate _ . Her mind returned to the flame dancing in the pit. 

"Higher," he ordered. 

Hands outstretched, Serilda willed the fire to grow, licking the air several feet higher than her head. This part had always been easy.

"Excellent. Now, weaken it.”

Sweat gathered in her hairline, whether by the heat or her own exertion, she was unsure. Her brows furrowed, and the force of her teeth clamped together seemed to whine in her ears. 

“You need to allow it to wane,” her mentor said, “not force it down.”

Despite his words, her muscles tensed further to the point her body cried in pain. But she couldn’t release it. Her hands contorted, forearms cramping and pulling her fingers toward her palms

“Serilda, let go.” His voice was calm.

“I… can’t,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

The fire grew, and its colors shifted from orange to blue, the brightness causing an ache behind her eyes. A plume of sparks kicked up as the fire’s increased heat ate away at the logs; it took little time for the flames to become the pit’s only holding. 

“She’s liable to burn down the entire manor, Ilyarus,” a woman spoke from behind. One of Ilyarus’s colleagues; a particularly vocal one who seemed to appear whenever Serilda trained. 

“You’re better off returning her to the street,” a man said. Another wizard who spoke often with her mentor. Another wizard she wanted nothing more than to burn away. 

Flames spilled over the metal’s edge and onto the grass, setting the dried blades alight. Her left hand shot out toward the fire set on the ground, grasping it with her magic and desperately seeking its containment. It didn’t move, it didn’t spread, but it wouldn’t extinguish. Her right remained fixed on the source, but it too was content to remain high and unyielding.

“What in the hells…” a voice said, somewhere far from her. It was familiar, deep, heavily-accented and concerned; the sound brought to mind a rapier and silly sayings, but she couldn’t place a face. It belonged to no one in her private audience.

At the distraction, the flames erupted, reaching well beyond the height of the gardens’ ficus trees. Her hands burned as if they’d dipped into the fire and wrapped around the metal lip of the pit; she felt a scream building in her throat, but she swallowed it down, releasing only a quiet cry of pain.

Someone else spoke, just as far as the other disembodied voice. “She’s going to set the whole fucking forest on fire!” The voice was identical to Serilda’s, though her jaw was still firmly clamped shut, and the words were not her own.

Serilda’s brows furrowed further, but in confusion rather than concentration.

Ilyarus moved into her peripheral vision and shouted, “Serilda!” But his voice was a touch too raspy, too warm to be that of her mentor’s; despite the urgency in his shout, it evoked a sense of comfort Ilyarus never provided.

“I told you,” his female colleague said, “say good-bye to your lovely home.”

“Even if you didn’t get your money back,” the man began, “because I’m sure that drunk of a mother spent it already, you’d at least be rid of…  _ this…  _ if you simply drop her off in whatever hole you bought her from.”

Tears pricked her eyes, and she knew these were not brought on by the smoke or even the pain in her hands. Her fingers curled in deeper, her nails digging into her palms; sticky and biting as blood mixed with sweat.

A light hand rested on her shoulder as Ilyarus sighed. “So much power, yet you hold no control,” he said, the voice returning to his own. “Such a disappointment.”

Her eyes squeezed shut, and as she held fast to the fire, willing it to stay put, the thought of releasing it, letting it spread and eat away her home, her mentor, those who mocked her, tempted her in the recess of her mind. How easy it would be to simply give up. The burning light that pressed through her closed eyelids suddenly darkened, and a second hand grasped her other shoulder. They gently shook her, but she refused to open her eyes, to look into the face of someone so despondent in her abilities. 

She felt them slide to her face, palms cupping either side of her jaw while fingers disappeared into her hair and his thumbs pressed against her cheekbones. These hands were large and calloused; Ilyarus may have been tall, but his limbs and hands were dainty and unmarred. 

“Serilda!” The slightly raspy voice returned. “Wake up!”

Confused, she complied. 

A shadow filled her vision, the fire still raged behind, casting just enough light for her eyes to ache. She blinked, tears falling freely down her face. 

“Calm yourself,” the shadow ushered, soft and kind. 

The pads of his thumbs brushed over the wet streaks, and she found herself leaning into the touch, her racing heart steadying despite the chaos still wreaking in her peripherals. 

As her vision adjusted and her mind took in her bearings, she saw it was Halsin kneeling in front of her as she rested against a large stone, coaxing her from the dream. His gentle movements against her face contrasted the shouts and hissing of water hitting fire as several bodies ran from and returned to the fire. She looked back and forth between Halsin and what little she could see past him, confusion pulling at her features until reality struck her. 

Her eyes widened, ignoring the pain that seared under her glove as her hand grabbed his wrist to push herself to the side, she reached out with the other and extinguished the magic that fed the flames. It’d been easy this time, a simple reaction with little thought.

The others stopped; Shadowheart and Gale relaxed their hands, exhaustion evident on both of their faces as they stood on soaked ground, the static of their magic lingering in the air, and the rest returned from the nearby stream with buckets in hand. Each set of eyes were fast on her.

Awkward silence settled in the space between them, Halsin’s body shielded her from the brunt of their stares, but it offered little protection from the discomfort. His hands had fallen away at some point; she hadn’t noticed when.

“What. The fuck.” Aurella stepped closer, dropping her bucket with a crack that made Serilda flinch. “You could’ve set the whole camp on fire!”

“I-I’m sorry!”

Serilda settled back against the rock and returned her gaze to Halsin. His eyes bounced to each of hers, as if looking for something.

“Has this ever happened prior to tonight?” Gale asked. She couldn’t see him, but she imagined him holding his chin in thought.

“No,” she replied, a tad too quick.

The twitch in Halsin’s brow told her he noticed. 

“It’s possible the tadpole is to blame,” Shadowheart remarked, her breathing a little heavy.

Serilda could’ve embraced Shadowheart for the suggestion. It seemed perfectly valid; a strange thing no one understood causing freak accidents such as this? After imbuing them with abilities and haunting their sleep? A sound conclusion.

“That’s an apt explanation,” Gale agreed. “Though it begs the question: was this an isolated event or should we be concerned for further incidents?”

“That’s two questions,” Serilda muttered, looking down, suddenly finding the explanation not so convenient.

Halsin stood, leaving her in full view of everyone, but he remained near her. She could feel his gaze pressing into her.

“Regardless,” Gale continued, “we should all keep a closer eye on one another--well, two, preferably.” 

Serilda looked up; Aurella stared at her with a scowl, her arms crossed. A silent plea crossed Serilda’s features as she held her twin’s gaze. Aurella knew the tadpole wasn’t the cause, she had to: it hadn’t been the first time she’d seen such a display from Serilda. But as she stared, she saw Aurella’s mouth soften, and her eyes rolled before she dropped her head and kicked the bucket into a nearby bush. The breath Serilda held released in relief when her sister remained silent.

“Should we bother lighting another fire?” Astarion asked. “Take the risk of her setting  _ us _ ablaze this time?”

Wyll gave the vampire a hard nudge with his elbow and ignored the indignant look offered in response. “I think we’ll be all right, yeah?” he said in his deep and heavily-accented voice that gave away the faintest hint of doubt.

With a sigh, Serilda nodded. “I won’t be going back to sleep any time soon.” 

As her body calmed and the adrenaline waned, the pain in her hands returned with a fervor, and she instinctively clenched them to hide the burns, though she still wore her gloves. The motion only worsened the pain and caused her stomach to roll, but she swallowed down the nausea and wracked her mind for a way to push herself to her feet without her hands.

Stepping in front of her, Halsin offered both of his hands. She glanced up at him and hesitated but held out her own when he gave a knowing smile. He grasped her forearms and hoisted her up to her feet as if she weighed nothing.

“Let us take a walk,” he suggested.

Stepping out, she headed toward the forest with Halsin beside her, ignoring the eyes that followed them. It was a silent journey, and her companion gave her a wider-than-necessary berth; she hoped it was to avoid hitting her hands and not because he feared she’d set him on fire. They passed a particularly disturbed bit of land beside a large tree, and Serilda tried to ignore that she’d led them the same direction she’d seen Astarion and Aurella disappear to on multiple occasions.

Eventually, Serilda stopped, and Halsin was quick to halt with her; she sat on a fallen tree trunk and let out a long sigh. Her hands throbbed and felt eerily cold, and though she knew it would only worsen the pain, she suddenly longed for the warmth of the fire she almost destroyed the camp with. 

Rather than sit, Halsin knelt in front of her. “That wasn’t the tadpole’s doing.” It wasn’t a question.

Meeting his gaze, she shook her head. Despite there being no accusation hidden in the blue and gold of his eyes, she looked away, feeling shame and embarrassment pool in her cheeks.

A warm finger pressed against her chin, forcing her to look at him. He’d done the same before when she’d avoided his questions about her burns. It brought a new wave of heat through her face, saturating the blush she knew was evident to his watchful eyes.

“What’s going on?” As he spoke, his other hand carefully pulled off each of her gloves.

She sighed again and tried to drop her head, but his hand kept her upright. Instead, she let her head fall backward, opting to look at the sky, at the bits of starlight that peeked through the canopy of trees. 

A blue light suddenly radiated from his hands. She recognized his spell of course, he’d used it a few times for her now, and each time left her feeling as touched as the last. This had been the first time he didn’t ask prior to healing her though. Returning her eyes to him, she watched as his face contorted slightly in his concentration; the barest furrow in his brow, the pressed lips, slight flare of his nostrils. She didn’t need to watch his hands; he held her trust, and she’d memorized his hand movements by now anyway. How they hovered over her skin, close enough to feel his radiating heat even through the cooling touch of his magic; how he let his index finger brush against the freshly healed skin, as if to test its closure; how he seemed to check her hands over a few moments longer each time.

When he finished, he met her eyes and smiled, though she caught concern still flickering in his eyes.

She tilted her head, content with keeping her hands in his. “Why are you smiling?”

“You enjoy watching,” he replied with a light chuckle, giving her a soft squeeze.

Her blush spread to the rest of her face. “It’s fascinating,” she choked out. “I’m awful with healing, so I… I thought maybe I’d learn something if I kept watching. I figured, at some point, I wouldn’t need to rely on you to take care of my hands.” It was a lie, and she silently prayed he didn’t feel her pulse jump.

His smile faltered just barely; if she hadn’t been watching so intently, she would have missed it.

“You haven’t yet asked to learn,” he said, settling on his knees as they dug into the earth. “I’m told I’m an excellent teacher.”

Her lips pursed as she thought up a retort. How did Aurella have such a quick wit? Why hadn’t she inherited that trait?

“It slipped your mind, perhaps,” Halsin said when Serilda had been too slow to reply. He tapped her forehead with his finger. “Understandable given all that’s going on up there.” It traced the length of her nose before disappearing under her chin as his thumb brushed over her lips. 

Eyes wide, heat settled in her belly; her skin tingled at his touch, and she sucked in a breath. 

“If these were a bit more generous with their words,” he began, “you’d free up some of your thoughts.”

Serilda’s mouth fell into a frown, and she rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she spoke against his thumb. “I hate that you have a way of making people want to share more than they should,” she added, recalling a previous conversation they’d had. Turning her head, she nodded to the empty space beside her. “At least sit here so I can stare off into space as I share my tragic backstory--well, part of it.”

The wood creaked under his added weight.

“Not really tragic, actually,” she corrected. “Just pathetic.”

Though she hadn’t asked, she glanced over and saw him looking ahead rather than at her, and she was grateful for it. To have his stare holding her while sharing her shame would have been overwhelming. 

“I… don’t really know where to start,” she said. “I guess just admitting I can’t always control my magic is as good a place as any. I favor fire, obviously. You’ve seen that’s my preferred method of attack.”

She saw him nod in the corner of her eye.

“It’s not so much a choice as a necessity,” she explained. She held her hands over her lap and examined them. Years of scars, overlapping one another over faint purple blotches, traveling up her arm, growing paler before reaching her elbow. “It’s… weird. If I don’t cast the magic, it sort of… builds up until it explodes.” 

“Is that what happened tonight?” he asked. “Had you gone too long without expending your magic?”

She hummed an affirmation. “We haven’t gotten into any fights in the last couple of days,” she said. “But it usually doesn’t build up so quickly. The bad dream and stress of… everything… probably didn’t help.”

“Would you like to discuss the dream?” he offered.

With a shrug, she replied, “I don’t remember exactly what happened, just that I was losing control of a fire, and there were people around me blathering as if I wasn’t there.” Serilda grew silent, not looking to repeat what she could remember of their harsh words; instead, she returned her focus to her hands, running her index finger along a silver streak on her palm.

She set her hands down on her legs. “Sometimes, even if I do release it purposely, I can’t fully control it. It’ll come out hotter or larger than I intended. Sometimes, it’ll all come out at once, and I’m left exhausted after a single attack.”

His hand slipped under hers nearest to him; his thumb grazed one of her more prominent marks on the top of her hand. “And the scars?”

“Sometimes the fire gets stuck,” she replied. “Like it’s caught under the skin or releases too close to my hand.”

“Have you searched for anyone that could teach you to control it?” he asked as he wrapped his fingers around hers.

She looked at their joined hands, letting her own fingers settle against his. The contact was warm--he was the embodiment of warm--grounding, encouraging.

“I have a mentor--had,” she said. “Ilyarus. I don’t know if he’ll take me back after disappearing without a trace. I’m not sure I want to go back.”

“How come?”

With a shrug, she replied, “I’ve been with him for several years. I’ve made progress, but…”  _ You’re better off returning her to the street.  _ It may have been a dream, but the words were not of her mind’s making. “I’m not sure what I’d do otherwise. Not sure where I’d go. Not sure how I’d take care of Aurella. But, I suppose it doesn’t do much for me to think about it now with death looming over our heads.”

At her words, Halsin squeezed her hand. “There’s still time,” he said.

Serilda’s head hung down, a sense of dread settling in her gut. How trivial, it seemed, this fear of the others knowing her lack of control when they all shared a death sentence that threatened to bear down at any moment. Yet, she couldn’t fully push aside the feeling that, as their leader, she was expected to stand tall at all times, be composed at any moment, prepared for anything that crossed their path. And living as a walking bomb didn’t fit into that picture.

Her lungs filled with the forest air as she breathed deeply and released it, letting her shoulders slump and her grip on his hand slacken.

“There’s still much troubling you,” Halsin said.

She nodded.

A heavy arm settled around her shoulders, a calloused hand on her arm, the smell of leather and pine wafting around her at the close contact. 

“I had hoped sharing at least part of what weighed on your mind would put you at relative ease,” he said. “But it appears I’ve done the opposite.”

Although the close proximity sent her pulse racing, she leaned into his half-embrace, resting her head against his chest, listening to the soft beats of his heart as his breathing sent her into a gentle rocking.

“This isn’t your fault,” she assured. “It’s not like these thoughts haven’t been racing through my mind on a daily basis.” Feeling emboldened at his physical attention, she reached for the hand draped over her and slipped her fingers between his; he offered no objection.

They sat like that for a time, in silence other than the wind and occasional snapping twig of an animal passing through. Comfortable in his arms, safe and with no pressure to provide leadership, no expectation to ensure survival.

“So,” she began, needing to ask what had been gnawing at her since her thoughts of doom quieted, “is this your secret to being the grove master?”

She felt him pull his head back to look at her. “Is what my secret?”

“Cuddling up real close and making them feel safe,” she explained. “Who wouldn’t listen to the man that could charm you with half a bear hug?”

He laughed heartily, his belly rumbling against her side. “I would hardly call this even half a bear hug.” 

“Or maybe this is how you disarm your druids and coax their secrets out.”

Again, he laughed. “I have not tried such tactics in the grove.” His arm tightened around her while the other extended toward her, his long limb easily reaching to rest against her thigh. His voice softened. “I prefer such affections to be reserved for more personal relations.” 

A breathy chuckle escaped her. His hand sent silvers across her skin and into the core of her stomach, as did his words, the promise this was more than a simple effort in consolation. Her breathing hitched, and it must have pulled him from whatever trance led him to such a move as his hand was quick to pull back.

“Apologies,” he said, straightening his back. “I seem to have gotten caught up in the moment.”

Her heart sank, and her face felt aflame. She pulled away and stood up, turning only her head to glance at him from the side. “It’s all right,” she said, forcing a smile, though he may not have seen it. “It was an appreciated tangent.” Facing down the path they came, letting her lips fall into a frown, she added, “We should head back.”


End file.
